Page 21 of Good Days Bad Days
She twists the apron string around her pointer finger and then lets it unravel in a spiral that looks like the funnel of the tornado Martha and I filmed in our award-winning segment. “But clearly she hates me.”
I am searching my thoughts for the right response to comfort Betty when Don Hollinger approaches from the rear of the studio.
“You about ready to go? The meeting’s in fifteen minutes,” he scolds Betty, sounding impatient. He’s dressed in a pressed suit with a Paisley tie and a three-button vest. His beard is neatly trimmed, and his hair is crisply parted on one side and sprayed down with enough hair spray to make the hair-and-makeup department envious.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I still need to change and touch up a little,” Betty says, looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes. Hollinger has expected Betty to manage both of her positions while he finds a new assistant.
He glances at his wristwatch stiffly and then gives her permission to take a few minutes to change into her office attire, mumbling a little something to me about how silly women can be with their makeup and dresses as he watches her sway out of sight down the hallway to the dressing rooms.
“I heard you had a guest drop out fromJanesville Presents ...Seems like that’s happening a lot more lately, huh?” Hollinger says, now that Betty’s left us alone. Martha is still nowhere to be seen.
“Yeah, the alderman stepped out this morning. We have a few leads. I’m gonna be meeting with Martha in a few minutes to see what we can come up with.”
Hollinger nods stoically, running his tongue over his teeth and then making a little smacking sound.
“I don’t think I need to tell you this, Laramie, but it’s looking like we’re gonna need to pull out ofJanesville Presents ...I know it’s Miss Smith’s baby. Looks like it didn’t take the teat, if you know what I mean.”
Mark is better at this kind of business talk. I hate it when I get sucked into the men’s world of all knowingness. I hate that he’s coming to me about the dying program instead of Martha, but I won’t let him accept its death so easily.
“We have a few ideas for the second half of the season ...” I run through some of them, promised guest spots including Tim Davis and the Steve Miller Band, but Hollinger doesn’t seem to care, stopping me after only a few examples of what we have lined up.
“That’s great. Keep working on those, but if I’m being honest, there’s not gonna be a whole lot of funding for that kind of programming. EBN has some plans for the slot unless we can get some advertising dollars in.” Martha is going to crumble. She’s worked so hard. It’s not her fault. This town is too small for her big ideas. “But don’t worry—I’ve got your back. We’ll turn this little beauty here into a full hour. You’ll have one show instead of two. Simplify your life a little. What do you think?”
Simplify. Is it really simplifying to lose something that sparks creativity inside of you? Hurting a dear friend and colleague in the process, is that simplifying?
“Martha won’t—” I don’t get the chance to finish the sentence because Hollinger cuts me off.
“Martha’s not in charge here. If she wants to stay at WQRX, she’ll do what she’s told. Right?” He crushes my shoulder in his grip, and it comes off as a message not only for Martha, but also for me.
I nod. He drops his hand.
“Good. Don’t worry, Laramie. There’s lots of opportunities for a guy like you at EBN. Don’t let Smith hold you back, all right?”
“All right,” I say to get out of the conversation, but even that’s a major betrayal.
When Betty returns wearing a burnt-orange jacket over a professional-looking knee-length pencil skirt, Hollinger acts like our discussion never happened. It reminds me of how I’ve learned to put away bad things like a half-finished casserole to be taken out later and reheated or tossed out in tomorrow’s trash.
“Ready for lunch?” Martha asks, back from wherever she’d wandered off to, after Betty and Don exit the studio. “Sorry I left you alone with Mr. Hollinger. He’s such a creep. I can’t stand being around him when I don’t have to be.”
“Eh, it’s OK.” I call over one of the other camera operators and leave him with a few instructions so Martha and I can get to work on finding a new guest forJanesville Presents..., no matter how futile the effort.
“So, what did that asshole have to say?” Martha asks as we exit the studio together.
I consider telling her everything—Betty’s confession, Hollinger’s thinly veiled threats, the new one-hour format ofThe Classy Homemakerthat might push Martha past her patience point, chasing her away from WQRX entirely. Instead, I do what I do best.
“Nothing,” I say, hands in my pockets and my stomach twisting, uncomfortable knowing too much but even more uncomfortable sharing it. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter 9
Charlie
Present Day
“That’ll have to do,” I say to my reflection. After the confrontation with my mom, I dried my tears, picked up an iced coffee from the new Starbucks on Main Street and Center. Then I stopped at the Ross Dress for Less off the highway, where I grabbed discounted Calvin Klein jeans and a flowy, though likely polyester, white top. It shows a bit of what my producer calls “tasteful cleavage,” and the pants hug my ass, making me grateful I’ve done all those squats my trainer insists on. I look my age but in a “good for your age” way with the help of weekly facials and only enough Botox to keep the higher-ups at HFN happy.
I tweak my three-tiered gold necklace and then fluff my shoulder-length hair, and the diamond on my solitaire gets caught in the hair spray–coated strands.
“Damn it.” I work to detangle the ring. I should’ve fixed the loose prong on the setting long ago, but I keep putting it off. Finally I free it and I examine the setting. A few pieces of golden hair remain stuck in the prongs.
